That was six years ago, when I had volunteered to start a knitting club at Hammerson House, a care home for the elderly in north London. I didn’t realise it would be the start of a close friendship, where the age gap spanned eight decades. From the beginning, I never felt as if Edith and I lacked conversation, or that we didn’t have enough in common. I learnt to take the words of wisdom when I could get them (“You must look after your husband”) and the sometimes-too-loud complaints with a pinch of salt (“That carer [points] is AWFUL!”).

As the years passed, I marvelled at the strength and feat of the human body and its ability to function. At 111, I was amazed that Edith could have a full conversation with me about anything, and that her memory stretched back so easily, recalling even small snippets of conversation which took place 100 years ago.

Edith and her 111th birthday card from the Queen Photograph: Hannah Manson

When I first met Edith, I was struck by her assertiveness. Her doctorate from the University of Vienna in the 1920s told me she was intelligent and sharp. Her English was fluent and her (at times) brusque manner made it clear that this wasn’t the type of person to let her guard down instantly.

We began building our friendship piece by piece; week by week. Once I got her photograph projector up and running, she would recall the story behind each of the thousands of photographs that formed the tapestry of her life. Edith had made sure to capture the amazing trips that she took across several continents with her husband, Paul. Both keen photographers, they would go far and wide, at a time when international travel was harder than it is now. From the US to the Middle East with a lot of time spent on “the continent”

Edith and Paul fled Vienna in the late 1930s just before things became too unbearable for them there as Jews. She recalled her feelings when the Germans marched through Vienna, and how people in her mother’s apartment building would no longer talk to them. She once went to collect her mended watch from the watchmaker, only to be told that it had already been collected by a Nazi officer. That was just the new way of life: “We had no choice but to accept it.”

After leaving Austria, she began building up her life in London and had many friends throughout England and all over the world. As far as Australia and Argentina, Edith knew – and was known by – many. In the early years of our friendship, I would often arrive to find her downstairs in the lounge playing her much-loved Scrabble with a friend. Although towards her later years she was restricted to a wheelchair, she participated in the exercise classes on a twice-weekly basis right up until earlier this year.

‘Something interesting started to happen as I visited Edith each week – I realised that I was going as much for me as I was for her.’ Photograph: Hannah Manson

As a child she had loved to ice skate on the lake in the Viennese winters, but in her later years it was the summer she adored, when she could spend time in the wonderful gardens that backed on to parts of Hampstead Heath. She had also loved dancing as a child and I recall, only a few weeks before her death, how she smiled when I played the Viennese waltz very loudly on my iPhone and we held hands and danced along to the music.

Over the years of visiting Edith, I explained that sometimes I would be away for a weekend – seeing family for various occasions or at a friend’s wedding. She would shake her head when I would describe these events, in disbelief at such a lavish celebration. She described her own wedding, to which she wore an “elegant navy suit and hat” for a ceremony at the synagogue in Vienna before a meal at her parents’ house just for the family.

Edith with a younger photograph of herself Photograph: Hannah Manson

I was fortunate to have attended a couple of her birthday parties – especially since there was always wine and vanilla ice-cream – two of her favourite things. I was always warmly invited to these gatherings with her family, and although the events of the Holocaust had made it a small circle, these celebrations remained a prominent feature throughout her life. A particular birthday that sticks out is when she turned 109 in 2012. I figured that she was probably the only person alive to have celebrated that exact same birthday – 12.12.12 – twice in a lifetime (the last one being 1912!).

Although I’m not some do-gooder with a holier-than-thou approach to life, something interesting started to happen as I visited Edith each week – I realised that I was going as much for me as I was for her. Yes, there were times when I wanted to stay in the pub a bit longer on a Sunday afternoon, or not venture outdoors one particularly cold and snowy Christmas Day. But when things have been a bit frustrating in my life; when I have failed at things over the years (and there have been many); when friendships and relationships have been confusing, and small decisions have weighed on my mind, I have appreciated nothing more than the opportunity to regain my perspective on life and what actually matters.

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When we are immersed in our able-bodied lives, it is very difficult to imagine the feeling of imprisonment when your faculties fail you (which, let’s face it, at 111 they will do). When the radio holds no pleasure (too deaf) and books aren’t an option (too blind), the only thing you will gain any joy from is people and their company. People showing you that you are not forgotten; that you still very much exist as a person with thoughts and feelings and opinions; that you still remember the life that has gone before you – and you remember it with joy and sadness and longing. Seeing how Edith valued the company of people above everything else and material things far beneath that, was a stark reminder of how we (well, me) should try to approach our lives.

Death at 111 is not unexpected, but I still feel that something is missing from my life – and my week. I feel very fortunate to have formed such a special bond with a remarkable lady, who was a true friend in every sense of the word. And I will always be grateful for the excuse I can now give for my much-indulged wine and ice-cream habit: “It’s what Edith would have wanted.”